Swipe
by katnissdoesnotfollowback
Summary: After the war, Gale gets a fancy job in District 2 and meets up with a familiar face. Originally written for the October 2014 Write-Me-a-Story-HG challenge on tumlr, featuring unconventional pairings.


_Swipe-Swipe_

Windshield wipers shove aside droplets of sleet. Today's the first he's heard that phrase. Windshield wipers. It's also the first time he's ridden in a car. He vaguely remembers sleek black cars transporting Capitol big-wigs between the train station of District 12 and the Mayor's house. The Tributes from the Justice Building to the trains.

He can't even think the word _Tribute_ without it sounding like the snarl of a dirty word in his head.

Catnip would have ridden in one at least twice.

Shaking his head, Gale tries not to run his palms over the buttery leather of the seat. The sound of the wipers is soothing. It'd be so easy to be seduced by luxuries such as this, he thinks before focusing on Soldier Jones's words.

"Now that we've wrangled up the last of the Peacekeepers, our primary objective is reconstruction. To that end, we need to see what is salvageable. Inventory what we've got and figure out what we need to get this place back up to snuff. Understood, soldiers?"

Gale and the young man sitting beside him both nod. "Yes, sir," is their firm, unified answer.

"Good. Meet me in Command at 0700 tomorrow for detailed instructions. For now, report to the barracks. Welcome to District Two."

 _Swipe-Swipe_

They reach the town and Gale shoves down memories of collapsing mountains, empty kisses, and the echoes of a solitary bullet. Not much has changed since the last time he was here. Just two short weeks ago, before the assassination of President Coin. Cranes still ring the old entrances of The Nut, braced so they don't tumble down the mountain. Work has halted for the night, but he can see how little progress they've made digging it back out.

His death traps aren't easy to reverse.

Not bothering with the hood of his jacket, Gale exits the car and heads towards the building Soldier Jones had indicated. The barracks are squat concrete buildings with narrow windows and a slanted gray slate roof. An efficient woman with close-cropped hair and a glower on her face checks them in and points them in the direction of their quarters.

Once in his new home, Gale tosses his duffel onto the bunk and goes to the window. All he gets is a tiny slice of rain drenched sky. It's better than Thirteen and not quite Twelve, but that doesn't matter. There's nothing left for him in either of those places.

It doesn't take long for him to unpack. A few uniforms and a drawing from Posy that he tapes to his wall. Then he collapses back on his narrow bunk and removes his boots, eventually falls asleep fully dressed.

 _Swipe-Swipe_

Her trial starts the day after he begins work in Two. It's all over the TV, and he wants to avoid it. So he locks himself inside what Soldier Jones tells him is a library, a building dedicated to nothing but books. Books on history, architecture, and military tactics. It had once been reserved for Capitol denizens assigned to keep Two in line. But now the doors to knowledge were open. Gale loses himself in their welcoming arms.

With how well he's avoided anything pertaining to his old life, it's a bit of a shock to see them. But there they are, unpacking gear from the trunk of a car in the middle of the square. The fresh scent of rain clings to the air, the pavement still glistening.

They are remarkably unchanged, at least on the outside. After everything that's happened, shouldn't there be marks? Or perhaps it's his last image of her, staring at him through a mirror with burn scars flickering up her neck and hollowness in her eyes. The remembrance of scars hidden beneath his own shirt, from whip and bullets.

But the pair in front of him appears untouched. The large man with his wild sandy hair and the woman with vines tattooed over her shaved skull. The man notices him first and nudges her shoulder, gesturing as Gale tries to walk by unnoticed.

She calls out with a wave. "Nice to see a familiar face around here."

Trapped, he stops and nods, noting that she wears sturdy boots, brown utility pants, and a simple shirt. Working clothes. "Thought you'd be in the Capitol, covering the trial of the century."

With a smirk, she shakes her head. "I was told that my familiarity with the Mockingjay meant I would be unable to provide unbiased coverage. If you ask me, bias is exactly what she needs."

Gale makes a noise in his throat. "Staying in the barracks or do they have nicer accommodations for you?"

Cressida, he finally remembers her name, consults a piece of paper in her hands. "We're to report to sector 8A."

He points towards the east end of the square. "Over there. Ask for Commodus."

"Thanks," she says with a smile. "Suppose we'll be seeing you around." She turns back towards her cameraman – Pollux or Castor? - and Gale leaves them to their work.

 _Swipe-Swipe_

"Fancy seeing you here," the now familiar voice says.

Katniss's trial ended a week ago, after months of painful arguing and analyzing her mental stability. The pieces he did catch made him feel sick. Other than the fact that she's been exiled back to Twelve, he's got no idea what's become of her. After calling in a few favors, Gale managed to get his mother and siblings brought to Two, found a small house for them in the mountain villages. Between his work for the country and getting them settled, he hasn't had much time to himself. Even if he did, he wouldn't pursue where he's no longer wanted.

In addition to the comfort of his family, Cressida has become a fixture in his life. Whenever he's required to talk for the cameras, she seems to be the one running the show. She feels like some weird tie between his past and future.

"Are you surprised?" he asks with sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Cressida scoffs. "Not even close, pretty boy. But someone's got to loosen you up before you go on camera. No one wants grumpy-face reporting on progress. Leaves a sour taste, you see. So smile." She makes a goofy face at him and his scowl only deepens.

"No, that's the opposite of what I'm looking for."

He's prepped and about to go on when Posy interrupts. "Look what I found!" She holds up a pale pink flower for his inspection and he scoops her up into his arms.

"It's lovely Posy. I've got work to do, though. Did you run away from Vick again?"

"Yes. He's bossy."

"So you come to me? I'm bossier than him."

"Are not," she snuggles into his shoulder, twisting his heart. With a kiss to her forehead, he whispers that she can stay if she promises to sit very quiet and still over by that building.

The promise made, Gale releases her and turns back to Cressida. The infernal woman is giving him a sly smile. His eyebrows come together in a fierce frown.

"She's adorable. Your sister?"

"Yes," he huffs.

"Uh-huh. Tell me, Gale. You work very hard, trying to make Panem a better place. Why?"

Stepping back from her, he crosses his arms, remains stubbornly silent.

"Everyone has a motive. I think yours is something that should make you smile. Or at least loose the frown. She'll never have her name in a glass Reaping bowl." Spinning on her heel, Cressida walks off to make final preparations.

 _Swipe-Swipe_

There's been a girl or two or three. No one he wants to keep around. No one that causes a spark in his blood. They're distractions, feeble attempts at filling the hollow places in his heart currently occupied by double exploding bombs and the screams of the innocent.

Katniss once asked him if it'd be easy for him to kill. He'd been so sure it would. Every enemy dead brought them closer to overthrowing Snow. And it had been easy. To a point. Then the lives had not been so guilty and now he's starting to wonder just how guilty the others actually were. His actions got results, but at what cost? He yearns for a pair of windshield wipers to swipe him clean.

"That's a wrap," Cressida announces after yet another shoot, and Pollux starts to pack up the gear. Rain clouds hover on the horizon, promising a cleansing spring shower. "Oh, and Gale. Thanks for not scowling this time."

He fingers the zipper on one of his pants pockets. So many pockets on this damn uniform. "Cressida," he calls. It's the first time he's used her name. She looks over with a half-smile, waiting for him to continue.

"You once asked what my motive was. Something I've wondered… what was yours? Why give up the comfort and security of the Capitol?"

Her smile grows and crackles with light. "Ask me to lunch and maybe I'll tell you."

 _Swipe-Swipe_


End file.
